


Forged of Steel, Soft of Heart

by Sleepy_Grandma_Phyllis



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Backstory, Bad Parenting, Child Neglect, Child Soldiers, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Children, Elaine - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fire Emblem - Freeform, Fire Emblem Fates - Freeform, Fire Emblem Fates Revelations - Freeform, Gunter - Freeform, Headcanon, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss, Loss of Innocence, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Other, Parentified child, Poverty, Sick Character, War, corrin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_Grandma_Phyllis/pseuds/Sleepy_Grandma_Phyllis
Summary: As a dedicated retainer of Princess Corrin and the former right hand of the King, Ser Gunter rightfully stood out among men. But even as a distinguished Knight and decorated War Veteran - there was so much more to the lilac-haired master-of-arms than what could be seen on the surface.An exploration of Gunter's backstory, spanning back to his childhood years. Includes spoilers to his character in Fire Emblem: Revelations, but is mostly Headcanon. Tags will updated as chapters are added, as to not spoil the end chapters before the are published! This has been something that I've been working on for some time now, and originally I wanted to wait until I finished Of Knights and Dragons - but after a great deal of consideration, there's no harm in posting this fic alongside OKaD!Gunter is a character near and dear to my heart - and I truly hope this story gives him some of the the depth and justice he deserves.
Relationships: Ektrina | Katerina/Garon, Gunter & My Unit | Kamui | Corrin, Gunter/Elaine, Gunter/My Unit | Kamui | Corrin, Gunter/Nameless Wife, Gunter/Unnamed wife
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

Sore little arms hung heavily from his aching shoulders as the young boy ventured homeward. Thick gravel crunched unevenly beneath his tattered shoes as he made his way down the country path that would eventually lead to his village. The sun had begun it’s departure for the evening, casting a deep apricot gradient across the sky far above his little head. Exhausted as he was, there was a little bounce of pep to his gait. The extended hours of labor he committed to the stables this past fortnight had earned him a meager bonus. Those few extra coins danced around his fingers in the pockets of his worn trousers, causing a toothy grin to spread across the child’s face. 

He vividly imagined the proud gleam in his parents’ eyes as he crossed the threshold into their modest home with arms full of fresh colorful produce- or perhaps a rich meat pie. It had been _ages_ since he last had meat. _Real_ meat. Savory and tender, cooked in all manner of spices and sauces - his stomach rumbled at the thought. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he filled his belly with something other than stale bread and pungent cabbage soup. 

His tired feet carried him beyond the crooked posts of the old wooden fences that outlined the little village. Poor as it was, it was not without its charms. The hamlet prided itself on the surrounding rolling prairies and the pristine river that bisected it. Although it lacked the wealth and extravagance of Nohr’s capital, the poverty the village endured only worked to strengthen the bonds of the people there. It was that very sense of solidarity that caused the lilac-haired boy to be met with warm smiles from the villagers that peppered the child’s path home. 

“Ho, there - Gunter!” The baker called from the street-facing window of his humble kitchen, “Finished for the day, have you? Last week of the faire?” He was a kind older man, with skin like worn leather, no doubt from endlessly attending scorching ovens for days on end.

“Yes sir!” Gunter nodded dutifully, awkwardly shuffling his way over to the man. 

“That there is hard work-” He stroked his greying beard as he looked over the young boy with compassionate eyes. “I can’t imagine it’s much fun tending to the horses of those puffed up nobles.” 

“No…” Gunter dug the heel of his foot into the ground as he spoke, “But it’s honest work, sir!”

“That it is, that it is…” The baker concealed a grimace, noticing just how the child’s filthy clothes sagged from his scrawny frame, like a string bean clothed in a potato sack. The annual Summertime faire at Nohr’s capital drew traffic from all around the country and beyond, and while the nation’s elite bloated themselves on wine and fine food, the working class strained to accommodate their gluttonous celebration. Gunter had been coming home later and later these past nights, no doubt worked to the very bone through the duration of the faire. He was a Stableboy after all, and the tremendous increase in visitors meant an endless amount of additional labor for the stables.

“You know what, I have something for you. Give me just a moment, yeah?” He vanished into the warm glow of the kitchen behind him, returning a moment later with a small bundle of fresh rolls left over from the day’s sales. The malnourished child’s eyes lit up at the sight. Gaunt fingers dug around in his pockets to present a shining coin to the baker, but the older man just smiled and shook his head. “No child, these are on the house today. You’ve earned it. I only ask you to give my regards to your Father.” 

“Yes sir! Of course sir!” Gunter accepted the rolls into his dirty, trembling hands with a look of such adoration in his eyes; as if the kindly baker had presented the child with gold, or precious jewels.  
“Now go on home, boy. And get some rest!” The old man smiled sadly… _knowingly_ to himself, watching the awkward boy as he nodded enthusiastically and turned to hurriedly make his way down the dirt road.

With his heart and stomach set on the vivid fantasy of that savory pie, Gunter had one final stop before making his way to the distant outskirts of town, where his parents would no doubt eagerly await his arrival. The village’s butcher shop was nestled in the center of town, a quaint brick building with winding tendrils of Nohrian ivy cascading along its height. The sleepy square was primarily vacant this time of evening, so it came as a surprise to the young boy when the familiar clank of metal on metal reverberated through the quiet summer air from the Blacksmith’s forge across the street. It was the blacksmith’s eldest daughter, Elaine, bringing a ball-peen hammer down upon a subtly glowing blade. 

She captured the young boy’s attention immediately. _Captivated_ him. She was a hardworking adolescent herself, only a couple years older than the young Stablehand. The thick curls of her long ginger hair were tied back in an attempt to keep her concentrated face clear, but a few rogue tufts clung to the dewy skin of her forehead. She paused her repetitive work to wipe the glistening sweat from her brow, and it was only in the moment did Gunter realize he had frozen in his tracks to admire her. The Blacksmith’s forge was truly the crown jewel of the village - ever since they had drawn the attention from the Nohrian Royal military, the regularly commissioned weapons and arms schematics played a tremendous role in supplementing the local economy. Particularly during the long and unforgiving winter months, when the brutal cold came to claim the harvest as well as much of the livestock.

“Hello, Gunter! How are you this evening?” Elaine’s sweet voice carried out above her resumed metalwork. Brilliant brown eyes creasing into a gentle freckled smile as she acknowledged his presence. Flabbergasted, the young stablehand staggered, his clumsy footing causing him to tumble forward. He kept the rolls the baker had given him safely extended in his arms at the expense of two scraped kneecaps and the sound of coins scattering across the earth below. Elaine promptly tossed the newly formed blade into a barrel of water with a loud hiss before meeting the embarrassed boy in the street, collecting a few of his stray coins as she did. 

“Oh my, are you alright?” Elaine crouched down, wiping her hands against the well-worn leather apron she wore. When his red face hesitantly lifted to meet hers, there was no judgement in her eyes, only concern. 

“Y-yes… I’m, I’m alright!” Gunter’s nerves were ablaze as he stuttered, cursing himself for being so foolish. 

“You… dropped these.” Elaine extended her palm to reveal the coins she had retrieved for him. He reached out with a trembling hand, surprised when warm, gentle fingers clasped around his. “You’re… _really_ alright Gunter?” She spoke softly, choosing her words carefully. “You know… there are people here who care about you - you don’t… have to do _this_ alone.” 

“What do you - ? _Oh…_ ” The quizzical look on Gunter’s face fell to one of sorrow as he averted his eyes. “Thank you, Elaine, but I’m… I’m fine. _We’re_ fine.” 

Elaine grimaced at the poorly concealed bitterness in his tone as he recoiled away from her, stepping back as he turned from her without another word. “I’m sorry Gunter, I… I didn’t mean to-” Her words were only met with silence, and the soft ringing of the bell attached to the Butcher’s storefront door as it closed before her.

The young blacksmith was gone when Gunter returned to the street, this time with a neatly packaged box beneath his bundle of rolls. He was grateful for it, as he was unwilling to endure her assumptions or misplaced concern. Quickly, he shuffled home. The houses and infrastructure he passed seemed to degrade with each stride he took. One after another, the further he ventured from the village square, it became more evident. Cracks in windows and building foundations began to appear, damaged roofing and unprofessional patch jobs, until the homes around him were hardly groaning skeletons of the buildings that came before. Yet when his eyes fell to the small shack at the end of the lane, there was no shame or embarrassment in the boy’s heart, only warmth and affection. Excitedly, his pace quickened until his small form stood before the tall crooked door that welcomed him home. He struggled with the handle, freeing the warped wood from it’s tight frame. 

“Mother! Father! Look what I -” The eagerness in his voice trailed off when he realized he stood alone in the cold entryway. His family home was a small shack consisting of only two rooms, and it was certain that when the hearth was dark and the tattered rocking chair before it was bare - his mother wasn’t home. Although her absences were gradually becoming longer and more frequent, it was the unconditional love for her, deeply seeded in the cavity of the boy’s chest, that reignited his baseless optimism of finding her here, and consequently it is what led him to heartbreak again and again and _again._ Foolish of the young boy to hope his Mother would stay long enough, just until the Faire had ended! Just long enough to help with... _To help with..._

He looked to the charitable donation of baked rolls in his hands with sad eyes and grimaced as he remembered the spoken concern from the Blacksmith’s daughter. He wasn’t weak! He _wasn’t_! How could they think that? About him, about his family? He didn’t need their help, he didn’t need _anyone’s_ help… He was strong and dependable and... _and..._

With the excitement in his heart extinguished, the boy solemnly placed his edible treasures upon the small wooden table in the center of the space before slowly making his way to the only other door in the room. He paused, pressing his little forehead to the old wooden barrier for only a moment. He sucked in a deep breath of air, feeling it expand in his chest, praying it would somehow rejuvenate his exhausted body and prepare him for what came next.

Exhaling slowly, he pushed the door open. It took every frayed nerve in the child’s body not to wince at the powerful acidic odor that assaulted his nostrils as he entered. His stomach churned at the familiar sound of worn, raspy groaning that called out to him from the bed tucked away in the corner of the room. Quickly, Gunter moved to the wooden dresser nearby, lifting an old matchbox from one of the creaky drawers. With a gentle strike, light sparked forth from the match in his little hands, and after carefully lighting the cluster of half-melted wax candles, the room was illuminated. A body, a _skeleton_ really, with little more than a thin layer of skin painted and stretched tight over it’s ragged form laid nestled in thin, scratchy blankets atop a modest mattress pad.

Gunter dutifully shuffled over to the small stool beside the bed, but he didn’t seat himself. He gently placed a hand against the cold, clammy forehead of the husk before him. Two yellowed, vacant eyes slowly rolled towards the Stablehand’s general direction accompanied by a guttural, incomprehensible moan.

“It’s alright, Father… It’s me, I’ve come home.” A powerful wave of guilt washed over the boy as his gaze slowly ventured over the rest of the bedding, where the source of the overwhelming stench that polluted the room revealed itself. Gunter winced as he pulled back the threadbare covers but immediately regained his composure - determined to preserve what little dignity his Father still possessed. The sheets and thin garments that clothed the tattered man were fully saturated with urine and other human waste. It was evident by the way the filth had grown cold and how the surface of the skin steeping in the frigid excrement appeared sore and inflamed, that his poor Father had been laying this way for some time now, _hours_ perhaps. 

And while his father, Johannes, endured the burn of acidic bile as it slowly irritated and ate away at his skin - what pained him more was having his only child find him in such a sorry state. For even though he was unable to shift his meager weight out of the soiled dip his body had formed in the center of the mattress pad, or articulate his thoughts in any way beyond broken murmurs and grunts - his mind remained intact. A coherent prisoner deep within the confines of his failing body. All he could manage with what little strength he had left - was to shed a thin river of tears. Yet his little boy, attentive and compassionate as always, softly wiped them away.

“It’s _ok_ , Papa. It’s going to be ok.” Perhaps the child spoke more to reassure himself than his ailing Father - but regardless, he seamlessly began to collect all he would need to begin his caregiving routine. Gunter was very quick to learn this regimen three years ago, when the plague swept over their unsuspecting village and the reality of his Father’s decline set in. The town had called it the _Living Death_ , for those few who were unfortunate enough to evade the reaper’s grasp were met with a fate far less merciful. Back in those days, however, before all hope for his Father’s healing was lost, before resentment eroded what gentleness was left in his Mother’s heart, they faced this trial together, as a family. 

His Father’s degradation was a slow one, an agonizing decline that spanned over the course of seasons, segmented by the occasional hiccup of the false hope of improvement. It was only earlier this summer, weeks before Gunter’s twelfth birthday, that Johannes finally lost his ability to speak. But even now, as his limbs atrophied and his bowels betrayed him, even when his wife abandoned him, vanishing for days on end; his son remained hopeful. Hopeful perhaps, not that his Father would somehow miraculously return to his former glory as the courageous and dependable authority figure he once was, but rather that when the young Stableboy looked into those cloudy, vacant eyes, that his Papa was still in there, looking back at him.

Gunter busied himself talking about his day as he began to gently wash the putrid fluids from his Father’s skin. And even though Johannes could not convey his interest or appreciation of his Son’s stories through words or expressions, Gunter knew his ridiculous accounts of the pompous nobles he worked for was a welcome distraction. 

“Who does that? To a _horse_?” Gunter’s voice took an entertaining tone as he told his father all about Lord Richter, a lesser known nobleman with an inflated sense of self-importance, who had gone through a ridiculous amount of coin in a shoddy attempt to dye his horse an unbecoming shade of what was meant to be violet - all to impress a Lady who wouldn’t give him the time of day. “I haven’t any idea what sort of solution his alchemist threw together - but it frayed the poor’s things pelt so badly, we had to shave it bare! It was quite a sight… watching Lord Richter depart from the stables on a _naked_ horse!” Gunter was certain he could see the _whisper_ of a smirk form at the corner of his Father’s thin lips and so he smiled to himself.

The only other clean blankets they had in the house were those that adorned Gunter’s own bed in the other room - but the child didn’t hesitate to fetch them once he had pulled the sullied cloth away into a small pile and wiped away what residue remained. He bundled the filthy garments neatly into a cloth bag - and would hand wash them down in the river after he assisted his father with dinner. 

“I got us a meat pie, Papa!” He gently lifted his Father, now clean, up into a more seated position. “And it’s a real good one!” He vanished for a moment, returning with a small wooden bowl that held a generous helping of the hearty dish. Carefully, Gunter held the bowl close to Johannes’ face, “Can you smell it, Papa?” His smile faded a fraction when his Father didn’t respond, and dissolved entirely when the weak man sputtered at the tiny spoonful that entered his mouth. Gunter quickly used a cloth napkin to catch the small, viscous chunk that fell from his Father’s open mouth, realizing slowly he no longer possessed the strength to chew for himself. The boy could feel a burning sensation in his eyes and he bit his tongue to stop the corner of his mouth from quivering. 

“No, no. _It’s ok._ It must have been baked too tough, _silly Butcher,_ I just need to… I just need to soften it, is all.” Gunter’s voice was small, fragile, as he left the room to pour the liquid of yesterday’s cabbage soup over the piece of pie in his shaking hands. His breath was staggered for a moment, but he balled his little hands into fists and drew what remained of his strength to collect himself. He would put on a brave face for his Father, as he always did.

It took time for Johannes to take to any of the food. The weak muscles in his throat strained to usher the lukewarm mush down into his empty stomach, but Gunter was patient and determined, and would remain vigilant until the bowl was empty. The effort of eating was enough to cause his Father to fall into a shallow slumber, and after his breaths became deep and regular, Gunter felt comfortable leaving him to tend to the soiled bedding. Hunger gurgled in the empty well of the child’s abdomen, but the look of the normally tantalizing pie caused Gunter’s stomach to churn. Food was the last thing he could think of, especially with his arms and nostrils full of lingering filth. 

It was late into the night by the time Gunter made his way to the mouth of the riverbank just beyond the overgrowth of weeds and brush that spanned far beyond his family’s home. It took time for his violet eyes to adjust to the darkness - only the somber glow of the moon to illuminate his handiwork. Shaking hands worked away at the soiled linens beneath the cold water of the river until all that remained was the vague tinge of reddish brown that would no doubt linger permanently. When he finished, he strung the linens across a clothing line he had carefully secured between two trees and rubbed in between his hands and clothes a few sprigs of rosemary he had plucked from one of the many bushes that generously spotted the area. Even though the scent had no doubt vanished along the river’s current with the rest of the excrement, it lingered in his nostrils and mind… at least now the strong, earthy aroma of the local herb could distract him. 

With his duty finally finished, the young boy crumpled into himself beside the riverbank. It hit him all at once. The accumulated sadness, the stress, the hopelessness; all tearing through his little body with the force of a violent riptide. He sobbed powerfully and shamelessly into his small hands - causing himself to retch and groan as he did. 

He was just a child, but unlike many of the other children of the village who played joyfully in the streets until they were beckoned home by the warm embrace of their parents - he wasted his youth slaving away in the thankless Nohrian stables of the capital - the only source of income his family managed. And after his hours of unrewarding labor, he would endure the miles long hike home only to tend to his suffering Father. 

He _was_ hopeful and proud - despite the circumstances of his life, and he was _so_ strong, far stronger than any child his age should ever have to be… but in these quiet moments alone, he couldn’t contain the building pressure in his heart from bubbling over.

“Gunter… is that you?”

The boy froze solid, pressing his face harder into his hands, shrinking further, far too ashamed to look to the gentle, familiar voice. 

“I… I’m sorry, I had no idea I would find you here.”

Still paralyzed, trying to calm his ragged breath, Gunter felt that perhaps if he didn’t move the unwelcome guest would forget he was there, or at least ignore him.

But she didn’t. 

Instead, Gunter could feel the vague warmth coming off from the body that sat down beside him, and even as saturated with shame as he was… he found himself feeling _grateful_. They sat in silence among the rosemary bushes for a while before she began to speak, the girl’s tone was uncertain but warm.

“It’s ok… to _not_ be ok, sometimes.” She let the words sink into him before she continued, “I… I lost my Ma and my Brother to that… that _sickness_.”

Slowly, Gunter’s head moved, and with clumsy hands he wiped the salty mess of snot and tears from his mouth before looking to find Elaine through blurry eyes. Her thoughtful gaze was fixed on the riverbank before them, knees hugged to her chest. Blinking away his tears, the feminine features of her side profile came into focus. Her eyes were pink and puffy, suggesting she was shouldering a burden of her own. And when she slowly turned to look at him, he could see an angry, purple welt outlining her right eye.

“Your face, what happened?” Gunter shot up immediately, concerned hands floating up to hover near her wound. “Are you alright?” There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. While he struggled caring for his own Father, he had heard hushed whispers of the Blacksmith himself resorting to the comfort of alcohol after his wife was claimed by the plague last year.

“No, I’m not.” Elaine smiled weakly at him, earning a puzzled look from the boy, “But I _will_ be.”

She watched him thoughtfully for a moment before reaching over to brush a rogue tuft of fair hair back from his flushed face. “And I know _you_ will be too. Because you’re strong. _We’re_ strong.”

“Do you really think that? About me? That _I’m..._ ” Gunter’s voice was small and mousy as the hint of red in his face shifted from shame to flattery. “... _Strong_?”

“Of _course_ I do!” Her hand fell from his face to offer a little squeeze around his slumped shoulder. “It was your courage, your dedication to your family that inspired me to rise up for mine.”

The Stablehand’s mouth quivered once more as the young girl pulled him into a warm, comforting hug. A throbbing ache spread through Gunter’s chest. He realized it had been so long since he was last touched with any sort of affection, _too_ long. He began to weep softly against her shoulder, “You don’t have to do this _alone_ , Gunter.” She whispered to him before she too, began to cry. After a period of time, they separated and shared crooked smiles before looking to the river once more.

“You know… I can stop by and check in on your Pa a couple times a day, between my shifts at the forge. Make sure he’s all clean and fed.” Before Gunter could object the girl continued with a knowing shine in her eyes. “My Brother... he went pretty quickly. But my Ma? She uh, she stuck around. So… I… I know what to do.”

“You.. you would do that?”

“Your Father was always good to my family, and he’s _still_ a good man.” Elaine nodded slowly, “So, yeah. Yeah I would.”

Gunter threw himself against the girl in a clumsy display of appreciation, earning a chuckle from the apprentice Blacksmith, who welcomed his awkward embrace. He had a million things to say to her, but all he could manage was a sad song of sobs and relieved laughter. 

“Just go home and get some sleep, ok? I know you have to be up before the sun.” 

“But what about _you_ , Elaine?” Gunter’s concern touched her, causing her to smile weakly once more. Her slender fingers floated up to the swollen, throbbing pressure on the right side of her face. 

“It’s okay… _Really_. He… He doesn’t mean it.” She looked away when Gunter’s expression showed he wasn’t convinced. “Better me than one of my little sisters, anyway.” 

“He shouldn’t hurt you. It’s _wrong_.” 

“He’s… going away for a few days. Has to deliver some stock to the Capital. So... I’ll be ok for the next while.” 

“You’re _certain_?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Gunter slowly rose to his feet, “‘Spose if I don’t have to do all this alone...” He extended a hand to his newfound friend, and smiled when she accepted. “Neither do _you._ ”

Ever the little gentleman, the Stablehand insisted on escorting Elaine home, even if it earned him an exasperated eye roll from the ginger-haired girl. But despite her annoyed facade, the young girl sighed pleasantly to herself as she watched him depart. Gunter, humble and oblivious as he was, had little idea the girl’s twinkling brown eyes reflected the same adoration and the same pain, housed in his own.

When he finally found himself standing before the tall warped door of his family home once more, Gunter found it was slightly ajar. Softly, he entered, finding the dark silhouette of his mother slumped in the lonely rocking chair that sat in the corner of the room. She smelled strongly of foul alcohol and was knocked out cold. A thousand warhorns couldn’t rouse the ghostly woman from her drunken slumber. Even so, Gunter moved quietly. Claiming the single blanket he had set aside for himself from his own little bed, he draped it around his Mother’s gaunt shoulders. 

“Good night, Mama.” He whispered softly. 

At her feet was the cold, messy remains of the rolls and small meat pie Gunter had brought home. He picked up the mostly empty tin and set it neatly aside, smiling sadly to himself as he did. He checked on his Father one last time before retiring to his bed, with only his arms wrapped around himself for warmth. 

Despite the cold, the hunger, and the knowledge that he would have to rise in only a small handful of hours to begin the cycle anew, Gunter smiled to himself. As his mind slowly drifted towards the twilight of dreamland, his last thoughts were of the kindhearted Elaine, and knowing that whatever he may face tomorrow - at least he wouldn’t face it _alone._


	2. Chapter 2

It was far too short a time, the transition between the long, hazy days of summer and the imminent threat of winter. And when its dark, slithering shadow crept forth to swallow what meager sunlight Nohr still enjoyed, the people of Nohr knew what was to follow. Despite their best attempts to ready themselves, with mountains of firewood and cupboards packed full with foodstuffs, - nothing could ever _truly_ prepare them for the relentless annual freeze; but the people of this unforgiving nation were nothing if not resilient. 

Gunter considered himself fortunate enough; some of the most valuable steeds of the King’s Calvary resided in the stables he tended to. So although the young boy would work his fingers raw, he would do so in the warmth of the countless braziers that lined the complex. The staff, however, were not held with the same reverence as the war horses they cared for. Gunter learned this quickly during his first winter working a few years back. He witnessed the bodies of younger, weaker, Stableboys wheeled out into the tundra carelessly; upon the very same carts used to dispose of manure piles. 

More often than not, it was the cold. Tiny, sickly bodies stood little chance against the assault of winter when they were already fighting an internal war against disease or infection. Sometimes, however, it was something far more gruesome. In these freezing temperatures, the noblemen and lesser soldiers were reluctant to brave the ice and snow to exercise their horses, and consequently the muscular quadrupeds became ornery and aggressive. Gunter remembered finding the corpse of his friend, Tobias, an older boy from a different impoverished village. Tobias had been assigned to grooming duty, and when Gunter found him, with his skull crumpled and caved in from the blunt force of a large hoof, the cleaning pick was still held firmly in his hand. 

Since then, it had been accepted in Gunter’s heart that any day now, it could be his little body thrown atop a stinking cart, carried out into the bleak tundra, never to return to his village again. And while that caused him great distress the first few months after first expelling his lunch beside the deceased Tobias two years ago, he had solemnly understood it as reality. It was days like today, when he was assigned to grooming duty himself, that Gunter would think of Tobias, and perhaps offer up a silent prayer. But as he collected his bucket of brushes and tools, the pale-haired boy indulged in the comfort of knowing even if he would never return to care for his ailing father, Elaine would be there for him. 

Even though the young boy’s fear was justified, some might say it was misplaced. He was hardly aware of it, humble as he was, but Gunter had a way with the horses. There was an aura about him, as he spoke softly to them, telling them the very same jokes and stories he would share with his Father. His gentle hands and gentler heart seemed to ease the restlessness of even the most belligerent horses.

But that hardly comforted the boy himself.

Gunter’s heart was in his throat as he entered into the regal stall of Jäger, an enormous colt with a scarred body black as night. As the valiant steed of Nohr’s Knight Commander, Gunter could only imagine what those dark, wide set eyes had beared witness to. Jäger whinnied and thrashed about a few times, making his displeasure known to the boy. Heavy hooves covered with a downpouring curtain of hair stomped heavily about, vibrating through the cavity of the boy’s chest. Gunter approached slowly, respectfully, murmuring gentle compliments as his little hands reached out to stroke Jäger’s pelt. With enough time, Jäger was still, granting the Stablehand permission to run a curry comb across his twitching skin.

“He likes you… That’s rare.” A commanding voice called out from the gate behind him, causing Gunter to jump. He looked to the source of the voice to find an older woman, broad and scarred just like the magnificent horse before him. Knight Commander Adele. Gunter averted his eyes, bowing his head respectfully. 

“K-knight Commander… Ser… My apologies!” The Stablehand was practically trembling beneath the stoic gaze of the renowned war veteran, causing a smile to deepen the creases in the skin around her mouth. “I will collect my things and leave immediately.”

“It’s quite alright.” Her voice was firm, but held no hint of the hostility or annoyance that the Stablehand was accustomed to. The muscular horse moved, nuzzling his large head into Commander Adele’s lifted hands. It was in that moment, shifting his weight between his legs excitedly, that the intimidating steed looked more like an overgrown puppy than a beast of war.

“What’s your name, Boy?” The Knight commander began repetitively stroking Jäger’s face from forehead to muzzle as icy blue eyes scanned the child up and down. The serious expression on her face didn’t read well, but there was a vague twinkle of affection in her gaze. Perhaps the grizzled Knight recognized something of her younger self in the terrified boy before her.

“It’s… G-Gunter… Ser.” 

“ _Gunter_.” She repeated, she stopped her affectionate petting to fold her arms across atop the wooden gate before her, earning an annoyed snort from her equestrian partner. “That could be the name of a Great Knight one day, don’t you think?”

Gunter’s eyes widened, looking to the woman as she shooed Jäger from playfully trying to nip at her greying hair. 

“ _R-really_?” 

“It isn’t every day that I come across a Stablehand able to calm the storm in a war horse such as Jäger. It’s that sort of presence and respect that makes for an outstanding cavalier.” She lifted from her side a brilliant red apple and presented it to her comrade, whose strong teeth crunched it clean in half. A piece of fruit like that, in this season? That would easily cost Gunter a month’s worth of wages. The Knight Commander’s eyes probed the stablehand once more. Judging by the boy’s appearance, it would only be a few seasons more before the boy was of enlisting age.

“If it just so happens I see a ‘Gunter’ come across my roster of initiates in a year or two… Perhaps I’ll put in a good word.” It was a small promise made in passing, and who knows if she ever intended to make good on it - but it was more than enough to spark a fire in the boy. A wide, toothy grin painted its way across Gunter’s face as he imagined himself, a man, a _Knight_ , atop a horse as commanding and powerful as the one that towered over him. 

The Knight Commander opened the gate, and claimed the reins of Jäger’s tack. She ushered the enormous creature out, walking in the direction of the paddock beyond the stables, but she stopped for a moment and turned to the young boy once more. She presented another apple, tossing it to the child with a faint smile, “Take care of yourself, boy.”  


* * *

“A knight?” Elaine spoke flatly, less of a question and more of a statement. She stood before her anvil, ever pounding away at glowing metal until the very brink of night. “Yeah, Yeah! I could see that!”

“Would you be _Ser_ Gunter, then?” Helen, one of Elaine’s younger sisters, was decorating a clumsy snowman just outside the forge with an assortment of rocks and twigs. “ _Ser_ Gunter.” She playfully repeated, dramatically emphasizing the new, _official_ title. 

“But then you’d have to leave us…” Petra, the youngest of the girls, whined as she tugged sadly at the arm of Gunter’s coat.

“He’d always come back though! He always does!” Helen reassured her, ruffling a dirty mitten over the mop of ginger curls on Petra’s head. “Now help me finish Mr. Snowflake!” She gestured to the awkward mass of snow before her, vaguely representing a man. 

“ _Ser_ Snowflake.” Petra mused, “We need a bucket for his helmet! He needs armor!”

“Come back before dark!!” The apprentice blacksmith called after the girls as they ran off giggling wildly, eagerly searching for accessories for their newly knighted creation. “They really love you, you know that?” Elaine paused her work, wiping her brow and taking a seat on the worn bench next to the Stableboy. 

“I have something for you…” Gunter smiled pleasantly as he revealed the treasured fruit gifted to him just hours earlier, placing it in her hands. Elaine’s eyes glistened as she rolled the apple around in her palms. The vibrant red color was a stark contrast to the greys and browns that normally filled the girl’s world. _Real_ fruit. In _winter_ no less.

“Where did you get this?” She gasped, “Gunter, I can’t accept this from you.” 

“Of course you can!” He insisted, “It’s the least I can do. You looking after my Pa and all, even with your sisters and the forge.” 

Elaine smiled softly, admiring the crimson orb again before bringing it to her lips. She closed her eyes as she took a bite of it with a crisp snap, sighing as the sweet juice of the apple wet her tongue. Munching, she pushed the apple into Gunter’s face, gesturing for him to take a bite. 

“No, no! It’s for you!”

“Take a bite, you _idiot_! When is the next time you’ll see a piece of fruit?”

Gunter obliged her, he had never tasted an apple before, and nothing could have prepared him for the sweet, delicious flavor. They sat quietly together, excitedly taking turns taking bites of the fruit until little more than the core remained. 

“You can save the seeds,” Elaine pointed to the small black pearls nestled in the center of the core. “Preserve em and plant em when the snow melts away.” 

“How do you know so much?” Gunter found himself endlessly impressed, and only occasionally intimidated, by Elaine’s intelligence. She seemed to know so much about so many different things.

“Ma was a housekeeper, before she got sick. The noblewoman she worked for was a real kindly sort - taught her how to read and the like.” She plucked out the apple seeds as she spoke, “She taught me what she could, you know, while she could still talk.” 

“Do you miss her?” Gunter bit his tongue the second the words fell from his mouth, not wanting to bring up any sore memories. He just… missed _his_ Mother.

“Every day.” Elaine gently placed the seeds in Gunter’s palm, closing his fingers around them with her hand before tossing what remained of the core into the fire of the forge nearby.

“I’m sorry… I don’t mean to make you sad.”

“No, it’s alright. You know, Helen and Petra are real young. They barely remember her.” She sighed, watching the flames consume the little bit of organic matter, “I tell them stories, try to make em remember. But that’s all they really are to them; _stories_.” 

“You can… tell me about her, if you’d like.” Gunter offered, earning a small, sad smile from his friend. “I could… remember her with you.”

“I’d like that.” Elaine stood and resumed her place at the anvil, “You have tomorrow off, from the stables yeah?” 

“Yeah, I do!” 

“Meet me down at the riverbank, in the morning, by the rosemary bushes. I’ll have something for you. And Gunter… _Thank you_ , for the, _you know_.” Just as she finished speaking, her sisters came running back with an old bucket and two mischievous smiles.

“Where _did_ you get _that_?” Gunter teased. Petra pressed one finger to her lips and shushed him with a gap-toothed smile.

“It’s a secret!”

“No, we _clearly_ got it from the armory. The _snow_ armory. A proper knight needs a proper helm!” Helen stood up on the very tips of her toes to place the bucket crookedly atop the snow-knight’s head. Afterwards, she took a step back and beamed proudly.

“He needs a sword!” Petra turned eagerly to her eldest sister, “Do you have one we can give him? An old shoddy one you don’t need?”

The question made Gunter chuckle aloud as he stood and made his way over to admire the girls’ handy work. 

“Come now, I’ll have you know that _none_ of _my_ blades are shoddy.” Elaine placed her hands on her hips with theatrical offense. 

“That’s not true! That one’s crooked! And _that_ one’s too blunt!” Helen began pointing her little fingers at various weapons hanging on display, harshly criticizing them as if she knew anything about smithing. Elaine simply rolled her eyes.

“That there is a fit knight if I’ve ever seen one.” Gunter gave a salute to the snowy creation, much to tiny Petra’s delight. “A real… _Snow-ldier_.” Elaine groaned in agony at the terrible joke as Helen and Petra gleefully repeated it again and again, laughing wildly as they did.

“Get out of here!” Elaine playfully shooed the Stablehand away, “But don’t forget what I told you!”

Gunter hurriedly fled the scene, a wide smile painted on his face the entire way home. To no one’s surprise his mother wasn’t home, but his father slept comfortably beneath a thick layer of blankets. When the time came for him to be cleaned up and fed, Gunter excitedly told his father everything. About the Knight Commander, about Elaine, and his plans. 

“Can you imagine, Papa?” He spoke softly as he wrung out a washcloth in a bowl of lukewarm water. “If I became a Knight, a _real_ Knight, you and Ma would never have to worry again. Not about food, or money, not about _anything_.” He smiled sadly as he mused to himself, he had no idea if his father would even live long enough to see it happen, but the young boy pushed the thought aside. 

Gunter continued cleaning his father’s skin with a smile, unwilling to let any negative thoughts extinguish the hope that blossomed in his heart after the day’s events. “I could get us a house - a nice one, on a little farm. Elaine could stay with us, her sisters too. And maybe… just _maybe_... “ His smile faded a fraction, “Mama would come back to us.”

Although Johannes couldn’t say it, couldn’t show it with his failing body. His heart overfilled with pride for his little boy. There was guilt, too, there always was, but it had been years since he last saw his son so _hopeful_.

With the electric current of excitement in his mind - Gunter barely got a wink of sleep that night. Yet even so, he woke up energized, and after tending to his father, he practically sprinted to the icy prairie where the wilted rosemary bushes, and his dearest friend, awaited him. 

“Right on time!” Elaine’s smile beamed. She looked so beautiful - angelic almost, with the pale morning sunlight reflecting off of the snow, encasing her in a thin halo of light.

“Mornin’ Elaine!” Gunter smiled awkwardly, trying to mask the rosy blush that warmed his face.

“Here!” Elaine tossed what appeared to be a wooden sword to him. It was light, and a little clumsy, but clearly made with love.

“What’s this?”

“You can’t expect a girl to stand around and make swords all day without knowing a little about how to use em.” She grinned as she watched Gunter get accustomed to the weight of the wooden weapon in his hand. “If you’re gonna be a Knight, and show those puckered up noble boys how it’s done - you’ve got to know how to use a weapon.”

“But Elaine… I uh… I don’t want to hurt you.” Gunter hesitated giving the sword a slow swing.

“Hurt me? You’re going to have to learn how to _hit_ me, first!” Elaine scoffed loudly at him, earning a chuckle from the boy. She raised her wooden weapon in an offensive stance, “So come on Stableboy! Show me what you’ve got!”

Gunter tried to use what very little he knew watching the soldiers train near the paddock of the stables. He ran at Elaine with a determined roar, only for her to seamlessly sidestep his clumsy attack. With a huff, Gunter turned around and tried again, a bit embarrassed when he was met with the same outcome. 

“Think of your sword as an extension of your arm - pretend that it’s part of you.” Elaine moved with more grace than he, and as if she knew which direction he would step to, whacked the sword against his arm. 

“You sure know a lot about this.” Gunter complimented her as he rubbed the area that made contact. Elaine simply shrugged.

“Only what the soldiers have told me, about what would make a blade better, easier to handle. But come on, I don’t mean to work you on your off day, but if you’re gonna make this village proud someday - you’re gonna have to know what you’re doing.” She stepped back and assumed a defensive position, “So try again - I know you’ve got it in you!”

Gunter gathered his focus, sucked in the brisk winter air and felt it expand in his chest. He could do this. He _would_ do this. This was, after all, the very first step in the direction of making good on his promise for a better future. For himself, for his family. He charged, holding the sword carefully in his hands, but just as he was about to swing, a patch of ice under his feet caused him to collide with his partner, sending the two rolling together in the snow. They came to a halt surrounded by withered rosemary bushes, Gunter hovering over the apprentice Blacksmith.

They shared a duet of laughter, but it faded as soon as Gunter found himself so close to Elaine, closer than he ever had been before. She was giggling beneath him, a genuine, beautiful smile on her face. Time may as well have halted for that poor Stableboy, his bleak world suddenly bursting into one of vibrant color when Elaine leaned up to place a sweet, clumsy kiss on his lips. His face was bright red, and his body felt so light he feared he may float away in the gentle morning breeze, for even gravity had no hold over the elation that overwhelmed the boy’s heart. 

“Shall we… _Continue_?” Elaine broke his trance, earning a puzzled, nervous stare from the boy. Could she _mean_? _Here_? Outside in the _snow_? “The _training_ , you idiot!” 

“ _Oh!_ Of course!!” Gunter came back to earth and quickly sprang to his feet, helping Elaine to hers as he did. 

So began their ritual. Each day Gunter had free from the capital’s stables, the two would spend a few hours challenging one another’s novice swordsmanship. And for the first time, in a very long time, the two of them felt _happiness_.

A precious feeling they knew, deep in their innocent hearts, would not last.


	3. Chapter 3

“You just need to promise me three things, ok?” Elaine sat with her knees to her chest, watching the riverbank before her twinkle in the springtime sun. Her dearest friend sat beside her, and although he had grown much taller over the last several seasons, he was still very much the same lanky, awkward Stablehand she had come to adore. They were alone together in their usual hideaway outside of town. The rosemary bushes surrounding them were alive with their annual blooms, bobbing and swaying in the fragrant breeze.

“Anything for you, Elaine.” Gunter promised with confidence. This quiet morning would be the last he would spend beside her for the next unforeseeable future. In just a number of hours, he would depart to the Capital with a small group of other village boys who had enlisted alongside him. 

“First, and most importantly, you keep yourself alive, you hear me?” The severity of her tone contrasted with the smirk on her lips, “I hear _anything_ about a lilac-haired stableboy kicking the bucket, and I swear it, Hoshido will be the very _least_ of the King’s problems.” Gunter chuckled at the thought of the fiery redhead storming the Nation’s castle to give the Crown a royal what for. Although she was teasing, he would not put the notion past her. 

“Secondly, come back to me. Whenever you can. In writing or in person.” Her smirk faded just a hint as she leaned her head against the ridge of his shoulder, “Things aren’t going to be the same without you around. And I ain’t the moping type - so… give me something to look forward to, yeah?” Gunter didn’t speak, but rested his head against hers. Elaine sighed with a vague sadness, basking in the quiet for a precious moment before she voiced her final request.

“Lastly… Don’t let those highborn nobs push you around. You keep your chin up and you be _proud_ of where you come from.” She looked at him with conviction, a gaze that cut through to the boy’s very core. “Don’t _ever_ forget your value. They’re going to try to convince you that you’re expendable - I hear the soldiers talk about it all the time. You’re not, you hear me? You’re the most important person in the world to me.” The girl spoke passionately, brown eyes glistening with tears as she did.

“Elaine… I-” Her name fell from Gunter’s lips in a surprised whisper.

“No, no _please_ … don’t say anything.” She sniffled out the words, wiping her eyes against the sleeve of her cotton shirt. “Just promise me, ok?” 

“Yes, of course I promise. I promise.”

“Good.” Elaine rose to her feet and collected herself, “What do you say then? To one last round?” She claimed one of the wooden swords, now battered and worn from the last two years of practice. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you’re leaving today.”

Gunter obliged her with a grin, “You’d make one hell of a Knight yourself, you know that Elaine?”

“Perhaps in another life.” The blacksmith mused as she assumed a defensive stance before him. They worked against one another with finesse now, the sounds of clacking wood and shuffling feet filling the air around them. For a moment, they were just two childhood friends sparring, sharing arrogant quips and fits of laughter as they did.

With a great amount of time and practice over the seasons, Gunter had learned how to properly handle a weapon. How to manipulate the blade in his favor, how to work his body in a way that enhanced his precision and evasiveness. It came as little surprise to either of them when minutes into their session, Elaine found herself disarmed. But before the young woman could offer up any sort of complaint, Gunter cast aside his own weapon in favor of her waist. He pressed his lips to the teeth of her smile as she welcomed him into her arms.

She returned his kiss with passion, a second time, a third time, swaying with him as she did. She paused for just a moment to peer deeply into his eyes.

“I love you, Elaine. Truly.”

“And _I_ love you, Gunter. So much. _Too_ much.”

They kissed once more, reluctant to part even when the sound of childish retching and theatrical disgust filled the air around them.

“Ewwww!” Petra exclaimed loudly, Helen was beside her covering her eyes with a moan. 

“What are you two doing up so early?” Gunter laughed, stepping back from Elaine to face them.  
“To see you off!” Helen explained, “But we didn’t think we’d find you _snogging_.” 

“We weren’t _snogging_ …” Elaine rolled her eyes as the two young girls ran at Gunter, nearly tackling the young man to the ground as they barreled him with hugs.

“Oh? Were you sword-fighting with your tongues, then?”

“Something like that.” Gunter grinned, earning a playful whack to the shoulder from Elaine and groans of disgust from the girls. 

“You’ll make a splendid Knight!” Petra looked up at him with her bottom lip quivering, “Even better than Ser Snowflake!” 

“The very best, no doubt!” Helen chimed in, her own eyes growing misty as the former Stablehand crouched to level with them. 

“I will do my best to make you proud.” He pulled the sisters into a warm hug before whispering to them with a wink, “Be sure to keep your sister on her toes while I’m gone.” 

They walked together back to town as a quartet, Gunter and Elaine hand in hand while the younger sisters ran circles around them, excitedly imagining up adventures for their very own Knight to star in. 

“Ser Gunter!” Helen exclaimed, “Hero of Nohr! Slayer of dragons!” 

“Would you slay the dragons, or befriend them?” Petra tugged at Gunter’s shirt a final time, earning a ruffle to the top of her head. 

“I’m not quite sure dragons are around much anymore.” 

“Sure they are,” Elaine countered as they approached the Forge, “And they come for little girls that don’t do their morning chores!” Her sisters were sent off squealing into the house, leaving Elaine and Gunter alone once more.

“Go on, then… Make us proud.” Elaine smiled sadly, stepping up to press a final kiss to his cheek, “Ser Gunter.”

* * *

It took time to adjust, but it wasn’t long before the initiate soldier and the blacksmith fell into a comfortable routine. In addition to swordsmanship, Elaine taught Gunter the basics of reading and writing. Embarrassed as he was at first, to be learning alongside her younger sisters, it was a skill he came to greatly appreciate. Exchanging correspondence with his Love wasn’t the only benefit - for although limited, his literacy set him apart from the other new recruits.

The village smithy was doing well, so well in fact that the names of more than a couple better known noble houses found themselves added to the list of Elaine’s clientele. As seasons changed, the Blacksmith detailed in her letters how Helen and Petra were learning to work the forge - and how she had to take under a few apprentices of her own to meet new demands. Regardless of her workload, however, she always made time to tend to Gunter’s Father. 

Despite her protests, Gunter would send the better half of his earned wages back to Elaine for the supplies and time needed for her continuous care of Johannes. And while Gunter knew he was never going to receive news of some miraculous recovery, it gave the young soldier great comfort in knowing that, in the least, his Father wasn’t getting any worse. 

Not _all_ was well, however. Particularly for Elaine. Her successful management of the Smithy only further strained the already frayed relationship she had with her Father, who saw her accomplishments as a challenge, as a threat to his control over the household. She failed to mention in her letters just how far he had fallen into the poisonous grasp of alcohol, just how volatile he had become. How she no longer felt safe leaving Helen and Petra alone in his presence. How she no longer felt safe. 

But She never once worried her distant Soldier over her Father’s constant threats to rid of her, to marry her off to whatever noble, peasant, or drunkard asked first.

“ _You wouldn’t dare._ ” she would hiss back at him, boldly staring back into his hateful, reddened eyes, “ _The moment I leave this household is the moment this business goes under._ ” 

And even with his terrible pride and unmatched anger, he knew, deep in the farthest reaches of his blackened heart, that she was _right_. For unlike his eldest daughter, he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to properly manage money or inventory. He was hardly literate and far less educated. So despite his countless threats, he _wouldn’t_ marry her off. But he _would_ beat her again and again, and it no longer mattered if her sisters were there to witness it. 

“It should have been _you_.” His words slithered through the air in a thick vapor as he pinned her to the wall with the thick of his forearm, “When that sickness came for Liam, it should have taken _you_ instead.” When he released her throat, Elaine sputtered, choking on the foul stink of booze. And even as she rubbed her throat, scowling at the old man before her, she felt no pain, no fear. “You should be rotting in his place.” He spat at her before turning to leave, darkening their door a final time before vanishing into the night for God knows how long.

His poisonous words carved like daggers into the heart of her little sisters, who wept at her side, but Elaine had grown so numb. In fact, all she truly felt these days was the rhythmic vibration of metal on metal when she dutifully worked her forge. And perhaps the fading shred of hope of one day seeing her lilac-haired stableboy return to her.

And return to her he did, though it had taken longer than either of them preferred. When Gunter came back to the Village, after several seasons of routine assignments befitting a new recruit, he returned as a newly promoted cavalier, and as a man. His once scrawny frame had thickened with toned muscles, his boyish face had hardened and matured. While he truly appreciated the warm homecoming he received from the rest of the village, no inquiring local could slow the urgency with which his feet carried him to the Smithy. There was only one thing on his mind, and that was the look on his Love’s face when he surprised her with his hard-earned leave.

Elaine’s back was turned to him as he approached and with the blissful haze of excitement clouding his judgment, he didn’t think twice before reaching out to touch her. Much to his shock, the red haired woman recoiled violently, snapping around with a razor-sharp blade in her hand, and an even sharper rage in her eyes. 

“Elaine… It… It’s _me._ ” Gunter lifted his hands submissively, wide-eyed and distraught at the sight of the blacksmith’s reaction. Elaine dropped the blade in her hand, flinching at the sound of it clanking against the hard ground. Her expression melted to one of relief for only a moment, then to one of sorrow. She couldn’t manage much more than to whisper his name before falling into his chest, trembling against him. 

She had changed too, in the time he was away, but not in the way he had. She felt so small in his arms, so frail. Her face was gaunt and pale, more so than he ever remembered, and what little skin he could see of hers was littered with bruises.

“I’m here…” Gunter soothed her softly, he could think of little else to say, “ _I’m here._ ”

The last of the sunlight hours that remained his first day back were spent presenting the small trinkets he collected for Elaine’s sisters, who were more than thrilled to see him, and spending quality time with his Father. But when Helen, Petra, and Johannes were safely tucked away for the night - Elaine and Gunter retreated to their quiet haven near the riverbank. It was there, beneath the somber moonlight, on a blanket among the familiar rosemary bushes, they got to know one another for the young adults they had become.

They were so clumsy, just two inexperienced lovers fumbling around in the dark. But it was tender and gentle and _perfect_. Skin on skin, they laid together and whispered into the late hours of the night, sharing everything they could think to speak of. Life had never been kind to either of those young souls, but in the moments they were alone together - it was as if all of the pain was forgotten, forgiven. At least until Gunter’s tender hands moved in such a way across Elaine’s ribcage that she could not help but wince from the pain. His heart shattered.

The young cavalier apologized again and again - wanting nothing more than to take the pain away. To take her away. To give her the life she deserved, one where she only knew gentleness and kindness and devotion. But he knew, perhaps better than anyone by now, that the Nohrian Military would not let him go so easily, not at the very beginning of his service. He firmly believed when he first set off to become a Knight all those seasons ago, that he was doing it for _her_. Her sisters. For his Father... 

_But at what cost?_

Even now, laying beside her in the black of night, he didn’t need to see the damage on her body to know it was there. He was careful, _so careful_ , but he could barely discern which parts of her were flush with excitement - and which were hot and raised from inflammation. 

He knew the suffering wasn’t limited to that of the physical sort. Even though the Smithy was doing well - the ever rising cost of taxes kept her and her sisters from truly thriving. And her _Father_ … Although he hardly deserved such a title, was, by law, the head of the household. Consequently, it took an exorbitant amount of Elaine’s profits to cover his seemingly bottomless tab at the local tavern. She had to shoulder so many burdens for someone so young, _too_ many. Perhaps she could conceal the vacancy in her eyes from her sisters and apprentices - offering them idle conversation and fabricated smiles, but she couldn’t hide it from her lover.

There was a tightness in Gunter’s chest, as his mind searched desperately for a solution. The woman beside him was the very first thought with which he began each day; and the last vision in his mind’s eye before it faded to sleep each night. Yet, despite his best efforts to provide, she was withering away. What could be done about her Father? That would not result in violent retaliation the moment he left her? What could he truly do to protect the woman he loved about all else.

“Elaine…” He whispered, sitting up as he collected her hands with such conviction in his eyes. Elaine hadn’t seen such passion since the very first day he talked about his dreams of Knighthood. “ _Marry me._ ”

“What!?”

“Ride with me, tomorrow, to the Capital. I am in the good favor of a Lord there - We could make it all official by week’s end. We’d be wed before I even return to service. And if your Sonless Father ever lays a hand on you again...” The Cavalier watched as Elaine’s expression switched back and forth between one of delight and utter disbelief.

“He would be forfeiting _everything_.” Elaine’s eyes twinkled as they creased up into a mischievous smile, “And here I always dreamt of marrying for _love_.” 

“ _Love_?” Gunter repeated. “Whatever gave you _that_ idea!?” He gestured around to the articles of clothing strewn around them. “I’ve only devoted myself to _Knighthood_ \- I’ve only spent the last several hours making mad love to you because I want your _smithy_.”

“And nothing else?” Elaine laughed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Not my heart? Not my children?”

“Not at all. In fact, it’s the _anvil_ I want to carry down that isle.” He earned a beautiful bout of joyful laughter from his lady love who kissed him, again and again. 

“Then you can have the anvil and the forge, Gunter, you can have _everything_.” She whispered to him before gently pushing him back down against the blanket they laid upon, straddling him as she did. “I only ask for your heart in return.”

“You claimed that a long time ago, My Love.” Gunter’s strong hands fell to the soft curve of her waist. “And it is _yours_ until the day I no longer breathe.”

* * *

They tried to keep things quiet enough, but Helen was _just_ old enough to have her own suspicions as to why her older sister and Cavalier she loved were suddenly riding off to the Capital for a few days. No notice, no explanation. She was a clever young girl, at the brink of her teenage years now, and so it came as no surprise, that when the newlywed couple returned home to a village alive with joyous celebration, it was entirely her doing. 

The air was thick with song and well-wishes, the townspeople danced and laughed and cheered - wholly welcoming this rare occasion for celebration. The baker himself, now with silver hair and shaking hands, crafted the most _beautiful_ cake for them. There was suddenly so much to be done in the short time Gunter had left with his newfound family, and thankfully Elaine’s Father was absent for the lot of it. 

The vacant room of Elaine’s late brother was cleaned and converted into a bright new haven for Gunter’s Father. His new, plush bed was placed beside a window that overlooked the town, and for the first time in a _very_ long time Johannes could feel the warmth of sunlight against his face. Much to Gunter’s surprise, Helen and Petra took affectionately to his ailing Father. They excitedly babbled to him, going as far as to bicker over who would read their nightly bedtime story to him. Perhaps it was the absence of their own Father that caused the girls to welcome him so warmly into their home. Gunter could not stop the tears that welled in his eyes seeing the girls sit at the foot of Johannes’ bed, carefully reading out the words of one of their favorite fairy tales. It brought him peace knowing that his Father would once more, after all these years, be in the company of family.

The marriage didn’t change much of anything for the newlyweds - they continued to be what they had always been, best friends. If anything, the legal bonds only served to provide the two with peace of mind when the Cavalier left for service once more. Not only did Elaine and her sisters now have some semblance of protection against their Father, but as his wife, Elaine would be formally informed should any harm befall her husband. She walked with him to the edge of town that early morning, to bid him farewell. Anxiety filled the well of her stomach as she kissed him a final time.

Whispers from some of the lesser ranking soldiers that frequented her Smithy told of the ongoing war with Hoshido, of how bleak the frontlines had become. Those voices only grew louder and louder in the back of her mind as she watched Gunter ride off to meet the storm brewing on the horizon. For although she knew there was peace to be cherished on the homefront, only the Gods knew what troubles laid in wake for her fearless Cavalier. 

And Elaine prayed to any who would listen to guide her Love safely home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: War, depictions of violence and death.

Windmire, the royal capital of Nohr, was something more of an enormous iron labyrinth than a city. Bleak spires and cathedrals towered over the lonely streets, obstructing what little sunlight the overcast skies so generously provided. Thick, unfeeling walls divided the city into various zones in accordance with the inhabitants’ economic status. Unsurprisingly, the deeper Gunter ventured towards the city’s epicenter, the taller those walls seemed to grow. And although he was sure the populace of Windmire appreciated their barriers of stone and steel, no doubt protecting them from the harsh tundra beyond, the young Cavalier found it claustrophobic. As if every step he took deeper into the bowels of the city further constricted his airway.

_Funny._

He would think to himself, no stranger now to the judgmental stares and upturned noses he often received from the higherborn nobles he had the displeasure of protecting. While they holed away in their musty iron caverns, pumping themselves full of drink and lard, wasting away in their fineries without so much as experiencing a world beyond their superficial comforts - _they_ pitied _him._ He couldn’t imagine ever being satisfied with such a life. 

More than he cared, he would find himself in the presence of the very nobs Elaine had warned him about. Men and women, many far older than himself, with soft hands and softer bellies; no doubt strangers to any sort of labor. And yet they spoke to him, slowly, _intentionally_ , as if his simple commoner brain just could not comprehend the luster of their extravagant mediocrity. 

This evening was no different, his latest assignment was that of the glorified errand boy. As much as he preferred even the lowliest grunt work over mingling with the upper class, he was a dutiful young man. If his superiors requested he deliver letters between the noble houses and higher ranking officers within the city walls - he wouldn’t complain, he would simply do as he was told. 

After he cleaned his hands of the last of his correspondence, Gunter began his journey back to the soldiers’ barracks, only to find his path obstructed by what appeared to be a belligerent drunkard shouting obscenities. He was a young man, probably no older than Gunter himself. The blonde tousles of his hair were slicked back with a sheen of sweat. His reddened face twisted in anger between the uncoordinated sips he drew from the bottle in his palm. 

“Katerina!” He hollered out with an accusing finger pointed towards the tall estate before him. “ _Katerina_ , why won’t you love me!?” His speech was segmented by hiccups and sobs, causing the Cavalier before him to burn with second hand embarrassment. 

Gunter looked around, the streets remained vacant for now, but it wouldn’t stay that way should any bystander within earshot call for the guard. This behavior was, after all, extraordinarily unbecoming for this section of the city. Although the thought of snobbish nobles tossing and toiling from their disrupted beauty sleep brought Gunter a moment of amusement, the concern he felt of what might become of the poor bastard, should the guard seize him, was far stronger. 

“Ho there, Brother.” Gunter called out to the swaying mess of a man before slowly dismounting his steed. “What ails you?” The drunk sluggishly snapped himself to face the young soldier’s general direction. 

“ _Women_.” The drunkard spat lifting his arm as though he might launch the glass bottle up at the window he was serenading with his childish yelling. Gunter caught the man’s wrist just in time, slowly lowering it down to his side and removing the bottle from his hand.

“Tell me of your troubles Friend, but no war of the heart has ever been won with the bottle.” 

The drunk man looked at Gunter hesitantly, wiping snot and sweat against the billowing sleeves of his fine white tunic. After a moment of what appeared to be thoughtfulness, the rage in the man’s eyes faded to defeat. He staggered, nearly toppling over had the Cavalier not caught the pathetic man on the ridge of his shoulder. 

“ _One_ woman…” He said, attempting to straighten himself, “The love of my life!” His voice escalated as he once more pointed to the window of the supposed Katerina’s bedroom.

“Walk with me, Brother.” Gunter redirected the man, working to draw him away, “Tell me of your woes.” Dejectedly, finally realizing perhaps that his tantrum would get him nowhere, the blonde man followed with wobbly feet. 

“She’s my sun, my moon… my stars.” The drunk wailed, “And she loves me not.”

“And what makes you think that?” Gunter kept a keen eye on their surroundings, he knew there was a tavern, or at least an Inn, somewhere within the next two sections of the city. It was just a matter of finding _it_ before the guards found _them_.

“Because I slept with her sister.” 

Gunter had to bite his tongue to prevent laughing at the drunk’s misfortune, but thanked the Gods he was faced away to miss the dramatic roll of his eyes. 

“...And a few other women. But she doesn’t understand!” His wailing had deescalated into soft, pathetic sobs. “Those wenches had my _loins_ , but only Katerina has my _heart_.” 

It took every fiber of the soldier’s being to stop himself from casting the idiot aside, leaving him to fester in his drunken stupor and bad decisions. But he was already halfway to the tavern, and as soon as he dropped the selfish bastard there, he could leave with a clean conscience. 

“I’m a _man_ , I have too much _passion_ , too much _fervor_ to restrict my body to one Lady. But my _heart_ \- only _she_ has my heart. You know what that’s like, don’t you? So many beautiful women, no man in his right mind can stay faithful to any one.”

“ _Uh_ … of course.” Gunter stammered, he obviously didn’t believe in such a hedonistic approach to romance, but the man before him was in no right mind to listen to reason or differing opinions. He simply needed a place for his head, where he could drown in self pity until it carried him off to sleep. Gunter prayed silently as the dunce beside him babbled on and on, that he would quickly be free of this uncomfortable situation.

After long enough, with the reins of his steed in one arm and a drunken manchild in the other, Gunter finally dragged the party to the bright door of one of Windmire’s finest Inns. He looked the drunkard over, wondering if he had coin enough to cover a room for the night. But with the next inn miles away, Gunter had decided he had done enough for the poor sod. By the sounds of it, a little debt would likely be the least of his worries. 

When they passed through the doorway, into the warm firelight of the expensive establishment, Gunter halfway expected to be given a harsh earful from a disgruntled owner or hostess. Judging by the glistening candelabras and animal pelts that covered the ornate lobby, the spittle-covered man slumped over his shoulder hardly looked the sort of their regular clientele. But much to his surprise, when the few patrons and staff that dotted the room focused their eyes on the unseemly pair, they were met with an air of reverence. Quickly, the customers and staff alike rose from their positions offering lowered heads and polite curtsies. Baffled as he was, for surely these nobles wouldn’t receive a lowly soldier such as himself with such respect, Gunter was grateful. After dragging a drunk halfway across the city, he had little energy for an argument.

“A room, sir? Right this way, yes, right this way!” The barkeep, who must also have been the clerk, ushered Gunter down an extravagant hallway filled with tapestries and paintings. There was a nervousness about the man, as he fumbled to unlock the large wooden doors to a vacant room. “Is… is he alright?” Gunter turned his eyes to the blonde man, hardly conscious, drooling on his shoulder.

“Just a broken heart and a belly full of drink. He’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, sir… Please… don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, anything at all!” Without another word, the barkeep fled the room with urgency. What a bizarre situation, the lot of it. Just two hours ago Gunter had been playing postman between two lazy lieutenants, now he stood in the room of one of the most exclusive Inn’s in Windmire with a drooling, babbling stranger in his care.

Slowly, Gunter drew back the plush covers of the largest bed he had ever seen, and laid the hefty blonde down into the mattress. He yanked the finely tailored shoes from the young man’s feet and pulled the covers tight to his chin. While he had hoped to depart without another word, the drunk’s heavy eyes slowly opened into exhausted slits.

“Your name. What is your name?” The words slipped through the man’s lips in a tired slur.

Gunter hesitated for a moment, not entirely convinced he should share it amidst this bizarre situation, but eventually he did. “It’s Gunter, friend. What’s yours?”

The drunk dismissed his honest question with a hearty belly laugh, “You’re a funny man, Gunter, very funny. But a good man, too. Very good.” Sniffling and groaning he rolled away from the Cavalier. “I won’t forget this.”

 _I wouldn’t be too sure of that…_ Gunter mused to himself before turning to escape the Inn, but before he could finally make his exit, the barkeep called out to him. No doubt recognizing the Cavalier’s aloofness to the gravity of the situation.

“Do you know who that was, boy?” 

Gunter didn’t speak, glancing at the whispering patrons around him, it was probably best not to admit his ignorance.

“That was the Crown Prince, _Garon_.” 

He had the decency to wait until he was atop his mount and several miles away before Gunter allowed uncontrollable laughter to overtake him. Gods, Elaine would have an absolute _field day_ when she heard about this.

* * *

There was a definitive shift in his service over the next few months. Although Gunter knew it probably had something to do with his run-in with the Crown Prince, no one came out to say it explicitly. In fact, no one said much of anything about Garon’s drunken tantrum. Gunter had the creeping suspicion it probably wasn’t the first time the Heir to the Throne had such an episode. 

This was not to say Gunter didn’t _earn_ the promotion he received next, in fact, quite the opposite was true. The former Stablehand had proven himself to be a dedicated soldier. Hardworking and reliable, the honest man charmed his superiors and comrades alike. It was rare to see a commoner climb the ranks so quickly, out-performing even the highest born noble recruits.

He was still so young when he heard the news from his commander’s lips, he had not even walked this earth for a full two decades yet. He knew the orders would come, for a proper combat deployment, but he wasn’t certain he was ready. It hardly mattered, of course, and he knew that. With shaking hands he wrote to his wife, sharing the news with her. The quiet days spent on petty assignments and routine duties were a part of the past now. As he stood in the armory, being fitted for battledress, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective metal of what would soon become his breastplate. His features were partially distorted and it somehow felt appropriate to him. 

All this time he had envisioned himself a proper Knight, but not once had he considered the anxiety or uncertainty that accompanied the realization of that dream. Was this truly what he wanted? Did he stand there, in the lavish armory of the Capital, by his own choosing? Or was this path to Knighthood just a turbulent riptide he was thrown to by powers beyond his control?

His reflection, contorted by the various curves and textures of the armor, reminded him of the gnarled faces of the stableboys he had once worked beside. Was death waiting for him, too? Perhaps in the form of a Hoshidan adversary? Would he rise to conquer the coming storm? Or like so many others, would he thrash helplessly against the waves of fate, destined to capsize?

The old woman fashioning his armor clasped her gnarled fingers around his shoulders with reassurance, recognizing the fear and turmoil on the young man’s face. He was hardly the first, and he wouldn’t be the last.

“You’ll be just fine, boy.” Her voice was hoarse and dry, but the words were comforting nonetheless. After snapping the last pieces in place, the old woman turned the young soldier to the mirror on the opposite end of the room. “That Man you see there? That is a _Knight of Nohr_.” 

Gunter swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as his eyes focused on the reflection of himself, now pristine. He certainly looked the part, but he wasn’t quite sure how he felt. A part of him, albeit, a very small part of him, didn’t quite recognize the man he saw staring back. He had earned his place amidst the King’s cavalry, gone through with the sacred Knighting ceremony, and somehow, it still didn’t feel _real_.

* * *

The air was eerily still, broken only by the occasional rustle of armor or horse’s snort. Had Gunter not received explicit orders, he would not have anticipated any sort of enemy activity in the otherwise peaceful canyon. The troops were prepared to flank an unsuspecting Hoshidan platoon that another squadron of Nohrian soldiers had strategically funnelled into the mouth of a rocky valley. The odds were generously stacked in their favor - the tacticians back at camp treated the situation as though it had already been won. They only waited for the signal.

Routine as it was, the bulk of the troops assigned to this particular mission were newly appointed Knights. As such, it was Knight Commander Adele that would lead them into battle today. She did so to set a standard, an example for the inexperienced soldiers. While the Knight Commander’s role was primarily at the right hand of the King, Adele made an effort to run a few routine missions each month. Not only to keep her senses sharp, but out of an affectionate obligation she felt for the younger soldiers. 

“Show no mercy!” The woman shined atop her steed like a powerful beacon. The Knight Commander was the true embodiment of Nohr’s military excellence. Her armor was black as night, detailed with gold embellishments. The years had not been kind to the woman since Gunter last saw her. Her hair was entirely silver now and cut short, and her face, once fair, was now warped with scar tissue. Her voice bellowed like thunder over her troops, casting out all fear and uncertainty from them with a single command.

“Today you will bloody your blades. You will salt the earth with those who dare defy us!” Her troops shook with anticipation, adrenalized by her words. “You call yourselves the Knights of Nohr! Today you will show me if you are worthy of such a title!” 

With perfectly orchestrated timing, a distant flutter could be heard approaching the moment she finished speaking. 

“Archers!” Adele roared, lifting her gauntlet to the skies. The Bow Knights surrounding the Commander filled the air with the sound of straining fibers as they prepared the weapons in unison.

“For the Glory of Nohr!” 

A small flock of frantic Kinshi Knights made themselves visible, no doubt attempting to break free of the canyon to call for reinforcements. But their fates were sealed the moment the Commander brought her hand down in quick sweeping motion, unleashing a torrent of arrows against the Hoshidans and their avian mounts. 

Gunter winced at the sound of screams cut short, arrows piercing flesh, and Kinshi wailing, crashing to the earth below. But the world slows for no man.

“Calvary!” Adele commanded lifting her arm as she did just seconds before, Gunter gripped the reins of his steed a little tighter, stilling himself. He felt the weight of his lance, held firmly in his other hand. This was it. This was his defining moment. 

“For the Glory of Nohr!” The phrase burned into the young Knight’s mind, repeating again and again as Gunter and his horse charged forth alongside his comrades beneath the signal of their commander. The enemies before them, in the depths of the canyon, be they Samurai, Diviners, or Ninjas, were met with the same shock as the Kinshi Knights. But unlike their fallen comrades before them, they were given just enough time to channel that fear into unbridled, desperate rage. They would not go quietly into the eternal night, and they would bring as many Nohrians down with them as possible. 

A gleaming shuriken soared through the air and buried itself into the thick of Gunter’s breastplate. It caused him no harm, but served him as a reminder that he could not hesitate. His enemy would show him no mercy, and so he could spare none himself. The ninja who threw the shuriken was readying several more, but Gunter’s steed moved too quickly, closing the gap between the two men in a manner of seconds. With a tightness in his chest and a sourness in his stomach, Gunter allowed his mind to retreat as he brought his lance down upon the enemy unit. His eyes watched as his lance tore through the cloth garments clothing the Ninja’s chest, and then the skin beneath. 

Time slowed and the battlefield fell silent. He saw his comrades screaming, colliding with the enemy all around him, but all Guntner heard was the thunderous pulse of his own heartbeat pounding at his temples. He watched the light fade from the body he had impaled on his lance. Watching in horror as a spray of crimson spewed out from the ninja’s mouth. The Knight used the heel of his armored boot to kick the body away, watching it fall, like a rag doll, to the ground in a lifeless slump.

A painful chill overtook the young man, spreading rapidly from his hands and feet to his core. And although his mind flooded with a violent whirlwind of disgust and panic and guilt and rage, the adrenaline that came next stilled his mind. Clarity. 

His senses once again returned to him, He felt the weight of gravity in his limbs. Adele’s commands and the overwhelming cacophony of battle cut into his eardrums as he readied himself to face his next adversary, and another, and another. He wasn’t prepared for it to end so quickly.

The tacticians who had briefed the soldiers before their departure were not wrong. It truly was as if the battle was won before it began - the longest thirty minutes of Gunter’s life. If it _even was_ thirty minutes. Only one Hoshidan remained, the commander of the squadron. Adele dismounted her warhorse and approached him with her battleaxe in hand. She kicked at the fresh corpses of the few Nohrians who littered the earth alongside the Hoshidan enemy soldiers.

“Behold! This is what happens when you hesitate. Even for a _moment_!” She called out to the troops who circled around her gesturing to their fallen comrades. Cruel as it was, it was a necessary show to instill confidence in her Knights. She closed in on the enemy commander who writhed prone on the earth, freshly sprayed with the blood of those he failed to lead. He gurgled at her, hands falling to the arrows piercing his sides. There was such fear in his eyes as he felt the Knight Commander flip him supine with the tip of her armored boot. 

Ignoring his raspy pleas for mercy and promises of surrender, Adele lifted her battleaxe without a shadow of pity in her eyes. She placed one of her heavy heels on his chest, his sternum crackling beneath her weight. The Hoshidan commander grasped weakly at her grieves, sullying the pristine metal with streaks of red.

“Witness!” Adele’s voice rang out, capturing the attention of every soldier in her wake. She looked around, ensuring all eyes were on her. “For this is the fate of anyone who dares to defy the great _Dragon of Dusk_.” With a seamless motion, the enemy commander was decapitated. 

When the soldiers returned to camp, Gunter could not stomach his dinner. He could not partake in the celebrations his brothers and sisters in arms indulged in. When the Knight Commander found him, quietly sitting alone, violet eyes fixated on his trembling hands, she joined him for a moment. Most of her words, of reassurance and praise, fell on absent ears - but one statement did cut through to the Knight’s shaken heart. 

_It gets easier._

Would it? _Truly?_ It was impossible for Gunter to believe that. He didn’t sleep for days, reliving the violence of his first battle again and again. And what little sleep he did manage was haunted by the lifeless eyes of his first kill. A ninja, hardly older than himself. He wondered, in quiet moments alone, if the men he killed had family at home in Hoshido. Siblings. A spouse. An ailing parent dependent on his care.

No. Powerful and fearless as she was, Commander Adele was _wrong_. Gunter would never grow comfortable with _murder_. It couldn’t get easier for him. It _wouldn’t._

_And then it did_.


End file.
